


Adaptive Skills

by incognitajones



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Additional Treat, M/M, Physical Therapy, Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-02 20:03:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16793791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incognitajones/pseuds/incognitajones
Summary: After surviving Scarif, Bodhi's still getting the hang of things, both with his new arm and in the Rebellion in general.





	Adaptive Skills

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bright_Elen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bright_Elen/gifts).



This week, Bodhi’s assigned task in occupational therapy was to use his prosthetic hand to pick up a metal cup and drink from it. So far, all he had to show for it was a dented cup and a dry throat.

He stared at the dull cup on the table in front of him and fantasized about picking it up in his still-nimble left hand and hurling it at the wall. It would be wildly satisfying… for about three seconds. But then the medroid on duty would just bring it back and ask in its irritatingly toneless voice (whoever programmed these things was obviously a sadist) whether he was feeling alright.

He sighed and concentrated on telling his hand to lift, one more time, and his fingers to curl around the cup. Instead they twitched, sideswiped the cup and knocked it off the table. Water trickled onto the floor as the cup clattered away, rolling across the floor with a metallic chime until it was stopped by the foot of the other man in the therapy room.

Corporal Tonc had been in here when Bodhi came in; he’d mumbled a greeting before sitting down and trying to ignore the other man. Bodhi still wasn’t sure of where he stood with these Rebels. Tonc didn’t seem to bear him any grudge for all the deaths of people he’d known, or his own injuries from the battle on Scarif—although at least he still had all his limbs. 

Bodhi cut that bitter thought off at the root. It wouldn’t help.

Tonc put down the soft rubber ball he’d been squeezing in his scarred hand and bent over to pick up the cup, plunking it back down on the table in front of Bodhi. “Don’t look so grim, Rook. Won’t be long until you’re back in the cockpit.”

Bodhi looked up, surprised. “They do that here?” He hadn’t expected the Rebellion to let him back in the air; the Imperial Navy grounded any pilots who lost more than a finger or two. He’d figured they’d put him to work as a flight tech once he could actually use both hands. 

“We can’t afford to scrap a good pilot just because he doesn’t have all his original parts. Besides, you have combat training too, right?”

“No. I don’t.” Bodhi focused on the dent in the side of the cup and concentrated on keeping his voice even, getting the words out without a stammer. “I never fought before Scarif. Just flew.”

“Really?” Tonc sounded genuinely surprised. “You sure sounded like you knew what you were doing. What my recruiter would’ve called leadership material.”

Bodhi winced. He might have been, once, before Bor Gullet. He could almost remember that confident boy, the one who was so smug about his piloting skills and sure of himself. The one who’d been cocky enough to think he could become a hero by doing what Galen Erso asked of him, without it affecting him forever...

He held up both hands, the metal one he couldn’t get to perform the simplest action and the flesh one shaking with the fine tremor which exhaustion brought out. “Yeah, well, this is me now.”

“Everybody gets the shakes after.” Tonc sat down astride the bench and leaned in, his dark eyes intent. “It’s what you do under fire that counts. And you kept your head when you needed to.”

Bodhi felt like he was looking at a blurred reflection he didn’t quite recognize—was that really him? If this actual soldier thought he’d done well, then maybe he had. Maybe he could do it again someday. He smiled and it felt as stiff and unwieldy as his new arm, but genuine. “Thanks, Tonc.”

“Call me Stordie.” He held out his fist, and Bodhi tried not to stare at the sleek muscles of his forearm. “Come on, pound it out. Let’s see you use that arm.”

Bodhi extended the laminasteel arm slowly, thinking his way through each step. He concentrated on rotating the wrist joint sideways a careful ninety degrees, managed to clench the fingers shut with a squeak of uncalibrated joints, and clumsily banged the knuckles against Tonc’s. He meant to use gentle force, but it ended up being more of a hard crack against the bone. “Dammit! Sorry.”

Tonc shook out his hand with a rueful smile. “No worries, that was a good start. Feel like taking a break? We’ve been at this long enough.” He kept smiling, and cocked his head while he held eye contact. 

Was this guy _flirting_ with him? Bodhi’d known how things worked in the Empire, but he wasn’t sure how to interpret Rebel fraternization signals yet. He wondered if he was blushing, and if Tonc would notice. 

“We could go see what Gold Squad’s up to, they’ve got a pretty good still set up in the corridor by the water treatment unit.”

He was being asked out for a drink—okay, that was definitely flirting. Bodhi swallowed and told himself to punch the throttle. He’d never get off the ground again if he didn’t take a few risks.

“Yeah.” He offered another nervous smile. “I’d like that.”

Tonc’s grin broadened with real warmth and Bodhi decided he’d made a good call. “Great. You should meet some of those folks, you’ll probably end up flying with them.” He stood up and Bodhi hastily followed suit. “So tell me more about those crazy Guardians…”


End file.
